


wintry

by lolainslackss



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Blind Date, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Family Dinners, Fluff, Holidays, Ice Skating, Ice rink, M/M, Post-Canon, School Dances, Tumblr Prompt, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-26 19:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16687432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolainslackss/pseuds/lolainslackss
Summary: A collection of holiday-themed fluff. Featuring ugly Christmas sweaters, a winter formal, an awkward family dinner, and a curious ice skating instructor.





	1. ugly christmas sweater potluck dinner extravaganza

**Author's Note:**

> I've been filling some seasonal fic prompts over on tumblr and thought i'd share them here as well!
> 
>  **prompt 16. we didn’t read the invitation that said this party was formal so we’re in our ugly christmas sweaters** (andreil, post-canon)

“I think we’re going to be late,” Neil says, flicking down the sun visor to check his reflection. His shirt collar has been crooked all day, and no matter how hard he tries to flatten it, it pokes out of his woolly sweater at an odd angle. He frowns and looks at Andrew, who is tapping his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently.

They’re on their way back from Renee’s annual Ugly Christmas Sweater Potluck Dinner Extravaganza and now they’re sat waiting at what feels like the twentieth stop light in a row.

“I wanted to change,” Andrew says eventually, exaggeratedly shrugging his shoulders so that the tiny silver bells on his sweater all chime in unison. Neil looks down at his own knitted monstrosity where Rudolph’s giant nose is glowing as red as the stop light.

“I don’t think we have time,” he reasons, “but I’m sure we won’t be the only ones twinkling and jingling - it _is_ a Christmas party after all.”

“Remind me again why we’re going,” Andrew says as the light shifts to green.

“We like our teammates,” Neil replies unsurely. “Don’t we?”

“You tell me.”

“We haven’t seen them since that last practice before Winter break.”

“And we could just see them our first practice back from Winter break.”

“Just think of all the free booze,” Neil levels at him, even though the thought of drinking champagne on top of Renee’s festive nut roast, salted caramel cocoa, and the little marzipan chocolates Nicky kept offering him personally makes him feel a bit sick.

Andrew tips his head in concession and turns in the direction of the fancy hotel their team’s Christmas party is being held in.

Andrew pulls into the bustling lot and a valet is conjured by the sound of the engine cutting. He takes the keys and climbs inside the Maserati as Andrew and Neil make their way inside. They have to go up to the third floor and their reflection mocks them from the mirrored walls of the elevator. They look ridiculous - Andrew in his blue sweater that resembles a snowscape, covered in bells that ring out with every step he takes, and Neil in his chunky red-and green knit that’s emblazoned with a deer sporting an illuminated nose.

“Does this turn off?” Neil mutters, swiping at the shining nose in an attempt to switch off the light.

“Too late now,” Andrew murmurs as the elevator doors slide open.

They step into an artificial Winter Wonderland. White drapes flutter from where they’ve been tacked to the ballroom walls and silver confetti litters the ground, giving a vague impression of snow. Ice sculptures lurk on the tables like gargoyles and a pianist plays maudlin versions of carols from the corner of the room. After getting momentarily distracted deciding how silly it all looks on a scale of one to ten, Neil realises two things.

The first is that everyone apart from them is decked out in their best formal-wear: black suit jackets and dress shoes as well as floor-length ball gowns and glittering jewels. He even spots a few rogue top hats and canes.

The second thing is that every single person in the room is now staring at them.

“I told you we should have gone home to change,” Andrew says under his breath.

“I didn’t know there was a dress code,” Neil hisses at him, “and we would have been late.”

Andrew opens his mouth to reply, but Coach is striding over toward them, her nostrils flaring.

“Minyard, Josten,” she greets them coolly, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. “You two are unbelievable. I know you both like to do things your own way but this flagrant disregard for the dress code-”

“This was an accident,” Neil explains.

“So you just tripped and fell into the ugliest sweaters you own five minutes before your team’s Christmas party,” she says, rolling her eyes. “The press are here, you do realise?”

“Obviously not,” Neil snaps. “Look, we didn’t have time to go home to change.”

“So you expect me to believe you two were already wearing _those_ sweaters? Voluntarily? In your own time?” Coach asks, putting her hand on her hip.

“We were at another party.”

“Oh! How popular you both are. I’m floored you actually managed to grace us with your presence.”

“How were we supposed to know there was a dress code?”

“It was on the invitation, genius. Right next to the address?”

“Must have skipped past that bit. Sorry, Coach.”

“I don’t care. When we take a group photo, you’d better be standing at the back.”

“We’re the shortest players on the team,” Neil argues weakly, but she’s already storming off.

“What the fuck?” Neil says, turning to look at Andrew, who just shrugs as he grabs a glass of wine and a fistful of canapés.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Neil tells him defeatedly. He trudges past his pointing and giggling teammates and slams the bathroom door closed before going over to one of the mirrors. His hair is tousled from the car ride, sticking up like his stubborn shirt collar. He runs his fingers through it and pats down his collar before tugging at his sweater. He _could_ just take it off. He could scrunch the stupid thing up into a ball and leave it in the trash. His shirt - which is patterned with little sparkly snowflakes - is smart enough that Coach would think it an improvement. Just as he’s about to pull the thing over his head, he thinks of Andrew - who is _not_ wearing a shirt under his Christmas sweater - and sighs, loosening his hands from the fabric.

After washing his hands, Neil returns to the party. He notices Andrew is talking to some of the other goalkeepers and he can tell from the looks on their faces that they’re _dying_ to give him a hard time about the sweater. Their smirks widen every time the bells jingle. Neil watches, twin flames of amusement and fondness warming his chest for a single peaceful moment before he’s handed a glass of mulled wine by a waiter and is ambushed by a red-faced and tipsy-looking Danvers.

“So are you and Minyard like, trying to make some kind of, you know, _statement_?” Danvers asks loudly, gesturing clumsily to Neil’s sweater.

“Are you asking if our Christmas sweaters are gay?” Neil responds blandly.

“Well, _are_ they?” Danvers goes on.

“No,” Neil says, raising his eyebrows. “They’re inanimate objects.”

Danvers squints at him, confused, so Neil just sips his wine. Thankfully, when Danvers opens his mouth to ask what is almost definitely going to be another stupid question, Coach yells at them to line up for the group photo.

He and Andrew gravitate toward one another, fingers intertwining loosely as they make their way to the back of the group. They drink their wine as they huddle behind Rodriguez and McLachlan, who are the two tallest players on their team. It’s all completely ridiculous and Neil can’t help but snort with laughter, especially when Andrew’s bells jangle cheerfully in the silence that follows the collective ‘ _Cheese_ ’.

They stay a while longer to chat with their teammates, but eventually Andrew sneaks up behind Neil to ask him if he wants to go home and watch Christmas TV. Neil - sleepy and mildly tipsy from the mulled wine - can’t think of anything better, and so they walk home, occasionally stopping to join a group of meandering tourists who are dazzled by the Christmas decorations lining the streets. Once in their apartment, they curl up under a blanket with the cats and eventually fall asleep with the TV burbling away quietly, still bundled in their Christmas sweaters.

The day after Christmas, Coach sends them both an email. It’s the group photo from the Christmas party and Neil immediately prints it out before taking it through to show Andrew.

You wouldn’t see them if you didn’t know where to look, but Neil does, pointing at a wisp of blond hair poking out of Rodriguez’s side and a sliver of a red-and-green sleeve jutting up from McLachlan’s shoulder.

“Maybe we should read the invitation properly next year,” Neil says after he’s finished laughing, fixing the photo to their fridge door with a magnet.

“I disagree,” Andrew replies, considering the photograph carefully. “I think this is the best picture I’ve ever seen of you.”

With that, Andrew goes to heat up some leftovers and Neil starts laughing all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come chat to me on [tumblr](http://lolainslackss.tumblr.com)


	2. hiding out at the winter formal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt 23. i’m trying to get away from an annoying person at the winter formal so i decide to ask the next person who walks by my table to dance and you just happen to be the most popular person in school** (andreil, high school au)

Andrew exhales, filling the toilet stall with a misty plume of smoke at exactly the same time the song changes from Crowded House to Olivia Newton John. It’s _Twist of Fate_. He closes his eyes and gently rests his head against the stall door as he takes another drag. He’s never admitted it out loud, but he loves this song. To be honest, he’s loved pretty much every song they’ve played tonight, no matter how muffled and distant they’ve sounded through the bathroom walls. He breathes out and opens his eyes. Near the bottom of the door is evidence of his early months of delinquency at the school - an unimaginative and jagged A.M. that he’d carved with a worn-out switchblade. He’d done that his first week. He’d have just moved into Nicky’s house and was probably still quietly fascinated by the sudden change to his initials. He’d gone from A.J.D. to A.M. all in the time it took to staple some papers together.

That felt like a lifetime ago now. After raising hell for a few months, he settled into obscurity and the years trickled by. Right now, it’s Winter formal. Incidentally, it’s his final one. The theme is the 1980s. Trust his shitty school to have a halfway decent Winter formal theme the year he’s going to spend the entire night camped out in a fucking bathroom.

He’s wearing his denim jacket over a long flannel shirt. Earlier, someone had said, _hey, Breakfast Club,_ as he’d stormed past. In actuality, it’s just his regular outfit. He hasn’t even seen the movie. It’s true he enjoys the music, but 1980s theme aside, he wouldn’t even be at the stupid dance if he wasn’t so hellbent on keeping an eye on Aaron and his girlfriend.

At the minute, though, he’s not even able to do that. He’s in hiding. He presses his cigarette butt against the tiles so that it leaves an ashy smudge and then flushes it away.

Here’s the thing: Nicky, in an effort to be a more responsible guardian, offered to chaperone at the dance. Usually, that would have been fine, but this morning there had been an... incident. Nicky had found his _stuff_ while cleaning and of course he wants to talk about it. Andrew, on the other hand, does not want to talk about it. He _definitely_ does not want to talk about it at his school’s Winter formal.

Deep down, he knows he shouldn’t feel awkward talking to his gay cousin about being fucking gay himself, but he does. He doesn’t even know how to articulate what he’s feeling in his own head, let alone out loud and to another person.

The music shifts. Tears for Fears to A-ha to Toto. He’s smoking approximately one cigarette per song. Eventually, the door creaks open, and Nicky whispers a tentative _Andrew_ before making a choking sound. The bathroom he chose is the furthest away from the gymnasium, but it’s obviously not a secret; he should have known he’d be found eventually.

He considers remaining in the stall, but that’s stupid. Nicky knows he’s here and now he’s probably due a lecture on smoking on school property as well as a heart-to-heart about his sexuality.

He flushes the toilet in a redundant effort to save face and then strolls out to wash his hands. He looks at Nicky as if he’s surprised to see him there. Unsurprisingly, it’s transparent as fuck.

“Andrew, you can’t just hide away all night. We should talk about-”

Andrew shoves his hands under the hand-dryer, which whirs to life and drowns Nicky out. Once he’s done, he pushes past his cousin and takes off down the hallway. The music gets louder. He’s not a big David Bowie fan so he’s happy when INXS takes over. Nicky is trailing him at a surprising speed.

He throws open the gymnasium doors and strides inside. Lines of pale blue and white light careen across the floor. The whole room is covered in paper snowflakes. The cheerleaders did that; he knows this because Katelyn sat at their kitchen table _snip-snip-snipping_ away for weeks on end. Shit, that was annoying.

Nicky grabs him by the shoulder and he startles.

“Sorry,” Nicky says, wincing. “It’s just- I need you to hear this. I never - _never_ \- had anyone to talk to when I was your age, and I want you to know-”

He hears something like wailing sirens. Sees something blinding and red like a cop car light flashing, _flashing_. He’s on the move again, walking across the dancefloor so quickly that people actually have to leap backwards to get out of his way.

He spots Aaron and Katelyn at one of the tables, heads close together and hands intertwined. He’d rather not sit with them but he slides into the seat next to Katelyn and returns her confused look with a blank one of his own. Looking over his shoulder, he can see Nicky jostling his way through the crowd. Panic flutters in his chest like a bird ruffling its feathers.

Nicky approaches the table, looking flustered and already babbling. Andrew stands up, bumping into someone in the process, and for some unknown reason, he curls his fist into their sleeve, pinning them to the spot.

“Pretend to dance with me,” he hisses, turning around to find himself standing face-to-face with Neil Josten.

Here’s a list of everything he knows about Neil Josten: He’s the star of the soccer team. _And_ the track team. He does hurdling and he never fucks up a jump. He’s a Mathlete. He’s also pretty much everyone’s not-so-secret crush, so he’s the recipient of countless craft paper Valentine’s adorned with curling question marks and scribbled hearts. He’s one of the most popular kids in school. And Andrew just asked him to ‘pretend to dance’ with him.

Andrew moves his hand from Neil’s sleeve to the lapel of Neil’s crushed velvet blazer. His fiddles with the boutonniere of roses pinned there and one of the thorns grazes his skin. Impossibly, Neil is still considering his request. His friends are staring. Kevin Day looks constipated with confusion. It’s weird. Andrew knows he should feel embarrassed but, somehow, he doesn’t.

Neil frowns and looks down at Andrew’s hand before giving him a curt nod. Andrew tucks away the surprise he feels and steers Neil in the direction of the dancefloor, ignoring Katelyn and Aaron’s questioning looks and Nicky’s cartoonish gaping.

Andrew doesn’t really dance. He doesn’t know how and he isn’t prepared to figure it out right this second. After extricating his fingers from Neil’s jacket, they sway at the fringes of the dancefloor, not saying a word. Giving the gymnasium a cursory glance, Andrew realises Nicky appears to have backed off. He relaxes.

“You don’t really want to dance, do you?” Neil asks.

“Just needed a way out,” Andrew tells him. “I owe you. See ya.”

Before he can slip away, Neil mutters an amused _‘wow’_. It’s enough to slow him down.

“What’s funny?” he asks.

“It’s just,” Neil starts, absentmindedly playing with the ruffles on his shirt, “I’ve been rejecting people left, right and centre tonight but the second I say yes to somebody, they end up rejecting me.”

“Why did you say yes?” Andrew asks.

“You just… seemed really desperate,” Neil says with a shrug.

“I’m on the run from my cousin,” Andrew explains.

“Not like, _actually_ on the run, though, right?”

“Just avoiding him. He wants to talk to me about something I don’t really feel like talking about.”

“Fair enough,” Neil says, before doing this dorky little salute unbecoming of the most popular guy in school. “Glad to be of service.”

Andrew presses his lips together, unsure of what to say. He should just go find another bathroom stall to take shelter in but he feels rooted to the spot. The song changes. It’s Cyndi Lauper. _Time After Time_. Good song, but such a cliché. Neil is watching him, his eyes like blue laser beams under the glare of the swirling disco lights. Andrew suddenly feels like he might throw up if he doesn’t say something.

“Do you want to dance?” he manages to ask without cringing.

“You already asked me,” Neil points out, “and I already said yes.”

“I asked you to _pretend_ to dance, not to dance for real.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I don’t know. Do you or don’t you?”

“I do,” Neil says, laughing. He closes his eyes when he laughs. It’s kind of cute. Andrew mentally adds that to the list of things he knows about Neil Josten: _cute laugh_.

They wander a little further onto the dancefloor, loosely placing their hands upon each other’s shoulders before shuffling from side-to-side. It’s a little awkward, but that’s dancing, he supposes. Nicky is watching from where he’s standing with the other chaperones and gives Andrew a sneaky thumbs-up when he catches him looking. Andrew grimaces, but it’s exactly then that he realises. He’s not going to be able to avoid this forever.

“I’m gay, by the way,” he tells Neil, because _all journeys start with a single step_ , or so one of Nicky’s ugly magnets says. He’s never said those words out loud before and in the silence that follows he braces himself for Neil to unwind his hands from where they’re laced behind his neck. To walk away.

“Okay,” Neil says instead, moving in time with the music.

The song fades and Soft Cell’s _Tainted Love_ zaps to life.

“What are you going to do now?” Neil asks, smiling in a way that’s almost shy as they stop dancing.

“Probably find a bathroom stall to graffiti,” Andrew replies blandly.

“Still not ready to talk to him, huh?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you want some company?”

“If you want,” Andrew says, giving a nonchalant half-shrug.

He ends up adding a lot more things to the list of stuff he knows about Neil Josten before the night is out, but the most interesting by far is this: the kid really knows how to handle a switchblade.

That, and he’s a wicked kisser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come chat to me on [tumblr](http://lolainslackss.tumblr.com)


	3. dinner date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt 13. my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and i’m so sorry** (andreil, au)

Andrew’s lying on his bed, half-asleep, when Aaron knocks on the door and lets himself in. The smell of the Christmas dinner Nicky and Erik are preparing wafts in after him: roast turkey, buttery potatoes, and the spicy hint of pumpkin pie. Aaron sits down on his own bed, which is across from Andrew’s, and clears his throat.

“Hey,” he says. “Remember how I invited someone over for Christmas dinner? Um, that guy Neil?”

“Your sad friend from the Christmas tree farm?” Andrew replies, regarding him out of one open eye. “Yes, you already said.”

Aaron always worked at the tree farm over the holidays to earn some extra cash. He put most of it towards buying Katelyn these ludicrously extravagant presents - a complete waste in Andrew’s opinion. This year, he’d become chummy with some other guy who worked there hauling Christmas trees around. This Neil guy apparently had nowhere to go for the holidays, so was clearly some kind of walking tragedy. Aaron had told him and Nicky the whole sob story a couple of weeks ago before asking them if it was okay to invite Neil to dinner. Nicky had called Aaron the _kindest boy in the world_. Andrew did too, but in a more mocking tone.

“Well, I was thinking,” Aaron goes on, fiddling with his comforter, “you know how it’s going to be like, me and Katelyn, and Nicky and Erik?”

“Uh-huh,” Andrew replies, bored of the conversation.

“And how Kevin’s bringing Thea?” Aaron continues, making eye contact with the ground. “And how Renee’s coming with Allison?”

“Are you going to make some kind of point any time soon?” Andrew asks, a creeping feeling of apprehension worming its way through his gut.

“I kind of, sort of, asked Neil to come because I thought he might be a good um, match,” Aaron says rapidly. “You know, for you.”

“A good match. For me,” Andrew repeats, sitting up and twirling round on his knees to face Aaron. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I think you two could really hit it off. If you know what I mean?”

“I thought you invited him because he’s very unfortunate.”

“Yeah, that was part of the reason,” Aaron explains, looking defensive. “The other part is because I think that he’s, well, your type.”

“I don’t have a type,” Andrew snarls, “and if I did, you would be the last to know about it.”

Aaron mirrors his glare for a second before frowning and looking down at the floor. He looks disappointed almost, like he was so sure he was being a brilliant brother. So sure he was doing Andrew a favour. Andrew hates him a little bit for it.

“Is he even gay?” Andrew finds himself asking.

“Um- I think so?” Aaron says, extremely uncertainly. “He has like, a vibe?”

“A vibe?” Andrew parrots blankly. “Stop pretending you have anything resembling a gaydar. Remember that you needed _me_ to literally spell it out for you and you’ve known me since day fucking one.”

“You could just ask him,” Aaron says, shrugging. “When he gets here.”

“Maybe you should have made things clear before you invited him over here to go on some fucking blind date with me.”

“Well, he doesn’t _know_ it’s a blind date.”

“He doesn’t _know_?”

“He just thinks he’s coming over for dinner.”

“I cannot believe I share DNA with you.”

“Well, he’s coming. I’m sorry,” Aaron says, holding his hands up in surrender. “We can drop the whole blind date thing, alright? Just dinner, okay?”

Andrew nods, but in hindsight, he should have made Aaron pinkie promise, because as soon as Neil Josten is ushered through their door twenty minutes later, Aaron is shoving him in the seat next to Andrew’s.

“So, this is Andrew,” Aaron says, putting his hands on Neil’s shoulders and holding him in place. “You’re going to sit next to him, okay?”

Andrew glares at Aaron over the top of Neil’s head, but his twin just pointedly raises his eyebrows before spinning on his heel and scooting through to the kitchen under the pretence of ‘helping out’. As if Aaron is any use in the kitchen.

Neil mutters something like ‘thanks for having me’, which Andrew returns with a miniscule shrug, before the room goes completely silent. It’s like, church silent. Andrew inspects his cutlery for water marks so he has something to do. After that, he unfolds and refolds his napkin. Finally, there’s nothing else to do but fucking look at Neil Josten. He turns his head fractionally to the side and sneakily slides his gaze in the guy’s direction.

He’s a little taller than himself. He’s quiet, apparently content to sit in the most painfully awkward silence that there ever was, but there’s also a sliver of tension in his body language that indicates he’s not one hundred percent comfortable with the situation. As Andrew watches him, Neil looks around the room, taking in every detail. He’s attractive, Andrew can admit that. His clothes (grey hoodie, unironed slacks) are terrible, but he has a nice face. _Winter blue_ , Andrew thinks, rather stupidly, when Neil finally turns and their eyes properly meet for the first time.

Neil smiles awkwardly at him. The smile creates a tiny star of a dimple in his left cheek. Below it, Andrew notices some pale, silvery scarring.

“I hate small talk, just so you know,” Andrew tells him, looking away.

“Okay,” Neil says. “No small talk.”

The doorbell rings, and Andrew gets out of his seat and hurries to the door. As he does so, he wonders if Neil has figured out the whole thing’s a set-up yet, and if he has, what his opinion on that is. He also wonders if his brain will ever stop thinking useless thoughts.

He opens the door and Renee and Allison make their way inside, undoing their matching puffy jackets and unwinding their scarves as they do so.

“Save me,” Andrew mutters darkly into Renee’s ear as she pulls him in for a hug.

“What?” Renee asks.

“Aaron has brought this guy,” he says under his breath, jerking his head in the direction of the table. “It’s a set-up. A pretty obvious one, really.”

Renee’s brow creases as she watches Neil sitting placidly with his hands in his lap. “Does _he_ know?”

Andrew shrugs.

“Do you _want_ him to know?” Allison adds slyly. “He’s _pretty_.”

“Keep your voice down,” Andrew bites out, causing Neil to look at all three of them.

“Neil, hello!” Allison calls over, striding across the room to shake his hand. “We’ve heard so much about you-”

As Andrew and Renee stand by the door to watch Allison attempt to charm Neil, the doorbell jingles again.

Andrew lets Kevin and Thea inside and shoots Renee a look. She gets the message and guides them to the table. Andrew busies himself with hanging the coats and scarves and tries to think of what his next move is going to be. When they’re all sat around the table, paired off, eating dinner, it’s going to be even more obvious Aaron intended for him and Neil to be _an item_ for the evening. The problem is that he can’t really tell if Neil’s into it. He can’t really tell if _he’s_ into it. He’s never had a blind date before. He’s never even had a _date_ before. Jerking off Roland in the backseat of his car doesn’t count, he knows that. What is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to say?

The doorbell pipes up again and he silently lets Katelyn come inside. He ignores her cheerful babbling and stuffs her coat on the rack next to Renee’s. Annoyingly, she was the last person to arrive which means he can’t even waste any more time lurking by the door like some weird butler.

He walks back to the table and returns to his seat next to Neil.

“Your friends are nice,” Neil says, nudging Andrew’s elbow with his own.

“They’re not my friends,” Andrew mumbles, ignoring the flush warmth of Neil’s skin. “And we said no small talk.”

“Sorry,” Neil says exaggeratedly. “Do you want to talk about moral philosophy or something instead?”

Andrew narrows his eyes at him. Was that flirting? Flirting about ethics? Is that something people do?

Before he can respond, Nicky kicks open the door and he, Erik and Aaron parade inside the room holding overflowing platters of food. It takes them several trips to carry all the food through to the table. By the time the turkey is plonked down in front of him, Andrew can sense all eyes are on him. Everyone is so nosy; Nicky should have served popcorn instead. Andrew carves his veggies into confetti, hating everyone.

“What happened there?” Allison asks bluntly, waving her fork just under her eye. It’s the same spot where Neil’s scars lie.

“Got into a fight with a Christmas tree,” Neil answers, deadpan.

Allison laughs loudly and Andrew sips his wine to hide his smirk.

“It’s true,” Aaron says. “I saw it. Very violent.”

“I thought I knew you from somewhere,” Kevin barks triumphantly, slamming his fist on the table like he’s some sort of drunken pirate in a tavern. “Thea - this guy helped us pick out our tree last week.”

“And now he’s dating Andrew?” Thea asks, confused.

“What?” Neil asks, mercifully hard of hearing all of a sudden.

“Nothing,” Aaron says. “Who wants dessert?”

Andrew raises his hand and then gulps down a generous swig of wine for posterity. He’s sure this dinner is going to be his legitimate cause of death.

Conversation messily nosedives into drinking games over dessert, and by the time everyone’s plates are empty, the majority of the dinner guests are mildly tipsy. Because Andrew’s life is just one misfortune stacked on top of another, he loses one of the convoluted games and has to clean the dishes as a forfeit.

“Neil will help you,” Renee says sweetly as she passes him her plate.

 _Traitor_ , he mouths at her, to which she just shrugs and sips her peppermint tea.

Aaron stacks up the remainder of the plates and unloads them into Neil’s arms and then they’re both being shooed into the kitchen. Aaron even closes the door. Andrew swears if there were a lock, they’d be barricaded inside until they kissed as if it were fucking seven minutes in heaven or something. He dumps the dirty dishes into the foamy water and starts scrubbing them. He feels stuffed, vaguely horny and not even remotely tipsy.

He passes Neil a clean wet plate.

“So, this is a set-up, right?” Neil asks, drying it.

“Yes,” Andrew admits, shoving a roasting tray down to the bottom of the sink to soak.

“Aaron didn’t tell me,” Neil says, sighing as he stacks the dry plates on top of each other. “I wonder why he thought-?”

“He thought you were ‘my type’,” Andrew explains.

“Am I?” Neil asks.

“I don’t have a type,” Andrew chooses to say, otherwise thinking, _fuck yes_.

“Was this weird for you?” Neil asks.

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Andrew says, shrugging. “You?”

“It’s kind of difficult to have a supposed ‘first date’ with someone when all their family and friends are present.”

 _You’ve hit the nail on the head_ , Andrew thinks. He pulls the plug, swivels round and leans against the counter. His marigold gloves drip plump drops of water onto the tiles. Neil’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a spattering of brown freckles. He catches Andrew staring and grins and it lights up the room like a fucking Christmas tree. _What a missed opportunity_ , Andrew thinks bitterly.

“Why don’t we try again?” Neil asks.

“What, like a proper date?” Andrew says, suppressing the urge to scoff. “Roses and candles?”

“No roses or candles,” Neil replies, shaking his head. “No small talk.”

“No meddling friends and family,” Andrew adds.

“Sounds good,” Neil says, reaching out to brush a rogue soap sud from Andrew’s cheek.

“Okay, then,” Andrew says, making a mental note to get Aaron something half-decent for Christmas. “It’s a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come chat to me on [tumblr](http://lolainslackss.tumblr.com)


	4. ice rink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt 02. i sit at the rental booth at our local ice rink and watch you teach children how to skate** (andreil, ice rink/high school au)

Neil lines up the three pairs of skates so that the blades clack metallically against the countertop. The tallest kid hands him a note to cover the rental charges and then passes the skates to his friends as Neil counts out his change with shivering fingers.

Abby and Wymack have given him this tiny electric heater that he keeps under the counter but even if he keeps it on for his entire shift, he never manages to thaw. That said, the rental booth isn’t the worst place he’s ever worked. Despite the cold (and the cheery looping of the same holiday songs), it’s easygoing. He enjoys the sounds - the echoey voices and the soft scratching of skates against the rink - and he enjoys the steaming mugs of tea Abby brings him every hour. He likes that Wymack isn’t too strict, which means he can spend his shifts catching up on homework. He also likes the decades-old decorations they excavate from some dark basement room every year; he can remember the crooked, artificial tree and the dimly-glowing rainbow of lights strung around it from when he came ice skating as a kid. Of all the jobs he could have taken at the rink, the rental booth is _fine_. He would have rather taken on an assistant instructor role, but even though he’s nimble on his feet when he’s on dry land, he’s an accident-prone nightmare on the ice. So that was _that_ ruled out.

“Enjoy,” he murmurs half-heartedly as he hands the kid a stack of loose change. The boy looks at the two girls and they all grin, clearly amused by some private joke or other.

“We always do,” one of the girls says. They’ve already changed into their skates and now their snow boots are wet and drippy on Neil’s counter.

“Mr. Minyard is the best,” the other girl adds.

“So funny,” the boy agrees.

 _Minyard_ , Neil thinks, as they totter towards the rink. _Surely not_ that _Minyard_.

He shrugs and puts their boots away, but he’s still preoccupied by that name. He sits next to a Minyard in school: Andrew. They have calculus together but they’ve never said a word to each other. Andrew sits in stony silence throughout their class, not doing much at all, while Neil furiously scribbles away. He doesn’t seem to do badly, though. In fact, his scores are nearly as good as Neil’s own (Neil takes a peek every now and then, when he’s sure Andrew isn’t looking). He can’t imagine Andrew teaching kids how to skate. From what Neil knows firsthand, and from what he’s heard from other kids at school, Andrew isn’t very friendly or patient. In fact, some of the kids at school are deathly afraid of him.

Neil frowns and tries to focus on his homework, but he’s too distracted. He checks to see if there are any more customers around and hops over the booth counter when he sees there aren’t. The sounds of skates swishing against the ice gets louder as he approaches the rink. He’s not sure what’s really driving his curiosity, but he can’t shake away the need to _know_. He peers through the plexiglass and sure enough, there he is: Andrew Minyard. Five feet flat and perfectly balanced on the ice. There are around twelve kids congregating around him, laughing hysterically. Andrew, straight-faced, folds his arms across his chest and says something. They all laugh again. Neil tilts his head to the side and watches. Andrew sends away the more confident skaters to practice travelling backwards around the perimeter of the rink and stays in the centre to teach the more wobbly skaters to do figures-of-eight on the ice. He looks calm as he instructs them, gentle in his guidance. It’s a strange image to apply to the disinterested and cold-looking Andrew Minyard he knows from class.

“Wesninski,” Wymack barks, yanking him back to the real world. “You’ve got customers. I don’t pay you to stand around.”

Andrew looks over when he hears Wymack yelling and his and Neil’s eyes meet briefly. Aside from a glimmer of recognition, Andrew doesn’t give anything else away. Neil makes a mental note to ask him about it on Monday, and then jogs back to the rental booth - and the disgruntled customers waiting for him - with a forced and cheery smile plastered on his face.

 

…

 

Monday morning. Calculus. Andrew Minyard comes in just before the bell rings and plonks down into his seat without sparing Neil a glance. Their teacher immediately starts droning on, so Neil doesn’t get a chance to talk to Andrew until they’re given their exercises.

“So, how long have you worked at the rink?” Neil asks, tapping his pencil against his notepad.

“Couple of weeks,” Andrew says with a shrug, doodling a fat cat in the margins of his own notebook.

“I work there too,” Neil tells him uselessly.

“I noticed,” Andrew says with a small snort. “You were spying on me.”

“I wasn’t- I just-” Neil returns his mocking look with a glare. Andrew looks so different from when he was helping the kids at the rink. He looks harder at the edges. “I was just curious to see who the new instructor was.”

“Well, now you’ve found out. Hope you’re thrilled.”

“You don’t seem like the type.”

Andrew looks amused. “ _That’s_ presumptuous.”

“Yeah, well,” Neil mumbles, shrugging. “Maybe you should put as much effort into your calculus as you do at the rink.”

“You’re very bold this morning.”

“You’re a confusing person,” Neil admits.

“Don’t hurt yourself trying to figure it out,” Andrew says. “I can make it simple for you.”

Neil looks at him questioningly.

“At the rink, I get free blue raspberry slushies. You know, because I work there,” Andrew says, conspiratorially, as if he’s telling Neil a secret. “In calculus, though? Not so much.”

Neil blinks, nonplussed. “You’re messing with me.”

“Who knew you were so easy to mess with.”

“So, what’s the real reason?”

“I like it,” Andrew says plainly. “Is that the answer you were hoping for?”

Neil just shrugs. He feels annoyed. Like the conversation is a game that he’s somehow lost. He flips the page vigorously and somehow ends up gouging a papercut into the side of his finger. A blob of red blood beads, quivers and then spills.

He instinctively blots the cut with a sheet of paper from his notebook before noticing that Andrew is pulling a pack of wet wipes and a beat-up box of band-aids out of his bag.

“It’s just a papercut,” Neil protests.

“Just a papercut,” Andrew parrots darkly. “Even tiny cuts can get infected.”

“Fine,” Neil concedes, placing his hand on the desk in between them.

He watches as Andrew carefully dabs the cut before firmly wrapping the band-aid around it. His touch causes Neil’s heart to trip up in his chest. He brings his free hand to his forehead; he hopes he’s not coming down with something.

After Andrew’s done, he drops Neil’s hand as if it’s a pebble of coal burning hot from a fire. Neil mutters a thank you and the rest of the class passes by without incident or, indeed, another word.

 

…

 

Saturday. Very early afternoon. Stark white daylight washes over the town, but it’s ephemeral. Soon, the sky will purple and brood. It’s the busiest time at the ice rink and Neil’s been dealing with a constant queue of customers all day.

Eventually, he’s left alone long enough to sit down and take a look at his English essay. He writes exactly one sentence before the commotion begins. A cluster of kids waddle toward him, teetering on their skates. They look worried.

“Mr. Minyard fell on the ice,” one of them announces.

“His knee just like, started spurting blood everywhere!”

“Don’t exaggerate, Tommy!”

“What? It _did_!”

Neil swears under his breath and bends down to retrieve the first aid kit. Wymack had made him take a first aid course after he’d been offered the job. He’d said he liked everyone at the rink to know how to take care of someone who took a spill on the ice. Luckily, he has never had to use it. Until now.

Neil follows the kids to the edge of the rink. Andrew is trying to undo his laces, but keeps needing to stop in order to press down on his bleeding knee. His pale fingers are smudged red. When Neil looks across the rink, he sees the splatter of crimson where he must have fallen.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have worn your trendy, ripped jeans to work today,” Neil deadpans, crouching down to take a look at Andrew’s cut.

“Shut up,” Andrew says, shooting him an unimpressed look.

“I will,” Neil says, “but only if you let me take a look at that.”

He nods at Andrew’s hands, which are clasped tightly over his knee. Andrew’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his body language shifts as he slowly undoes his hands and lets them fall to his sides.

“Just there,” he says, pointing to his knee. He leans back against the plexiglass wall and closes his eyes.

Neil nods, not really understanding. He makes sure to clean and dress the wound without touching Andrew anywhere but his knee. It’s a relatively shallow cut so it’s easy enough to patch up, even when there are a bunch of kids watching him work, holding their breath.

When he’s done, Andrew’s eyes flutter open. Some colour has returned to his cheeks. Neil smiles at him encouragingly.

“Go get Andrew a blue raspberry slushie,” Neil instructs one of the kids.

“I’m not in shock,” Andrew grumbles, annoyed.

“Didn’t say you were,” Neil replies. “This is just, I don’t know, my treat.”

“What a treat,” Andrew says sarcastically, getting to his feet. “A freebie from the cafeteria.”

“How’d you fall?” Neil asks, just as Andrew is about to get back on the rink and skate away from him.

“Wasn’t paying attention,” Andrew says, looking annoyed at himself.

“Oh well,” Neil says. “Could have been worse, right?”

Andrew just holds his gaze for a second or two and then glides away.

 

…

 

Neil slams his locker and startles when he sees Andrew standing right next to him, sucking the remnants of a slushie, his lips tinted blue.

“What?” Neil asks.

“Nothing,” Andrew replies, tossing the plastic cup in the trash.

“Okay,” Neil replies, confused. “You’re finished too?”

Andrew just nods, sitting down on the bench across from Neil and studying him carefully. His look makes Neil feel twitchy and at the same time makes his insides lurch as if he’s on a rollercoaster.

“Uh, are you heading home then?” Neil goes on.

Andrew shrugs. “You?”

“Kind of have to,” Neil replies, tugging on his parka and switching his fingerless gloves for mittens. “It’s Hanukkah. If I’m not there when the candle’s lit, my mom will kill me.”

“Okay,” Andrew says, considering this. “And what will she do if you sneak out after?”

Neil huffs a laugh out of his nose and shakes his head. “Then she’ll turn me over to my dad to kill me.”

“Is there any situation where you meet up with me tonight and don’t end up dead?”

“I- Well- Why do you want to meet up with me?”

Andrew looks at him as if to say, _are you serious?_ Neil tugs at his scarf, feeling warmth for the first time in weeks.

“You,” he starts, not sure how to finish. “You’re nothing like how they say you are, are you?”

“Who’s that?”

“The kids at school. They think you’re scary.”

 _But he’s not_ , Neil thinks, his mind flooding with images of Andrew on the ice, reaching for some little girl’s hand as she’s about to stumble. Of Andrew taking care of his stupid papercut even though he didn’t have to.

“I don’t care what they think,” Andrew says.

“Where will you be?” Neil asks, changing the subject. “Tonight?”

“Around.”

“Your parents won’t mind?”

“Bee is a very lenient guardian.”

Neil doesn’t waste his time trying to untangle his thoughts. He knows what he wants to do.

“I can sneak out,” Neil tells Andrew, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“Good,” Andrew says.

They walk down the corridor in silence, eventually passing the empty rink and a suspicious-looking Wymack. Neil waves goodbye to him and then he and Andrew are outside, surrounded by a deeply black night-time that’s being interrupted by the orange glow of the streetlamps. Andrew walks him to his car and then leaves without saying another word, merely tugging on the strap of his backpack and shooting him another one of his _looks_.

Neil drives home with a grin on his face he can’t get rid of. He can’t wait to see how the rest of the night will turn out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http://lolainslackss.tumblr.com) if u wanna say hello there!


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